


Natter

by CorsetJinx



Series: We never asked to be heroes [5]
Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/F, F/M, Gen, Light Angst, M/M, Platonic Cuddling, Possibly Unrequited Love, Sharing a Bed
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-15
Updated: 2018-04-04
Packaged: 2019-02-14 22:46:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 22
Words: 12,170
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13017756
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CorsetJinx/pseuds/CorsetJinx
Summary: Conversations between friends and new acquaintances.





	1. Wagers and Doubt

“Do like him? Ser Aymeric, that is.” Tataru asked, peering up at Anemone over her hand of cards. She hoped that the question would take the other woman by surprise and rattle her focus. Perhaps even enough to save her the rest of her gil.

Anemone blinked promisingly, one brow jumping up her forehead. “What brought this on? Jealous? I assure you ‘Taru, no one will ever take your place in my heart.”

She laid a pair of cards down and picked another from the deck. Her frown was either crafty misdirection or genuine. Tataru tried not to hope for too much as she made her own move, quietly amused at the summoner’s response. And touched.

“It came to me down the grapevine that the Lord Commander requested to have dinner with you. _Again_ , might I add. Just you, and him, all alone.” She giggled, bringing her cards close to her mouth to hide her smile.

Anemone gave her a long suffering look, ruining it with the slow twitch of her mouth. “Tataru, please. It was dinner. Quite delightful yes, but _just_ dinner. The house staff was present - as was his cantankerous little beast of a cat.”

Tataru pouted a little at that. “I would like to remind you that you failed to return to Fortemps manor that night. _And_ for much of the morning, might I add.”

Another card was set down, Anemone’s expression blank. “We had drinks after dinner. _And_ it was rather cold that evening. You can’t blame me for saying yes to a warm room when Ishgard’s weather decides it wants to mimic Shiva’s Diamond Dust.”

_That_ made Tataru giggle again. Anemone smirked with victory, setting down her cards. “Fold.”

“Praise the Twelve.” The lalafell sighed, showing her hand at last. “I thought you might be trying to bleed me dry.”

“Nonsense.” Anemone pushed the sizable pile of gil back towards her, smiling. Tataru blinked, eyes going huge. “I have an ulterior motive in mind.”

She blinked again, looking between the money and her friend. “But I… that isn’t all mine.”

“It is now.” Anemone leaned back in her seat, tail swaying in satisfaction. “I’d like it if you used some of it to buy some wool. Or cotton,” she amended thoughtfully.

“Alright…” Tataru’s brows drew together in confusion, but she nonetheless began to slide the coin into her purse. “What for? Does your coat need mending? I can fix that easy - right now, if you like.”

The summoner shook her head. “It’s going to sound silly but… well, to be honest I loathe this cold.”

Tataru nodded in understanding, carefully hiding the now bulging coin purse.

“I was wondering if you might be willing to make a warmer for my tail?” Anemone asked softly, her tone mildly embarrassed.

“Your… tail?” Tataru repeated.

“It gets cold, but I can’t stand pinning it under my clothes. It hurts, after a while.” Anemone reached for their abandoned cards, adding them to the deck and reshuffling. “And the spikes get caught like you wouldn’t believe. But if you don’t mind trying - just something I can slip over it while I’m out running errands…”

Tataru smiled. “Of course! I’m sorry I never stopped to think of it before - why didn’t you say something sooner?”

“It’s embarrassing.” The au ra conceded. “I get looks enough as it is, but long hours out in the wild nigh freeze me to death some days.” She paused, looking at the lalafell almost shyly. “You truly don’t mind?”

“I shall do my best.” Tataru promised, clapping her hands. “Do you have a preferred color?”

She shook her head, sliding the deck back into its little box. “I’ll leave that to your judgment. Thank you, truly.”

“What about gloves?” Tataru suddenly frowned. “You lost your old ones a while ago, didn’t you? And a hat - you need one of those too.”

Anemone pointed at her horns, smiling in resignation. “These make hats difficult, I’m afraid. But I appreciate the thought.”

Tataru subsided, her legs swinging under the table. “I shall start on it tomorrow. My word.”

The summoner nodded, lifting her hand to signal for another round of drinks. She inhaled deeply when the mulled wine came around, sinking a little further into her seat with pleasure. Tataru carefully sipped from her cup, warmth spreading throughout her body.

“About Aymeric.” Anemone suddenly broke the silence, staring into her cup like it held all the answers for the world.

Tataru blinked, sitting up straight. She frowned, worried for the note of sadness in her friend’s voice. “Yes..?”

The summoner’s mouth tightened. She thought Anemone might brush off the change in topic. Her eyes had darkened, tail no longer swaying.

“He…” Anemone began, throat tight. She swallowed, frowning. “He’s a good man, Tataru. I’m a little surprised that he isn’t being _crawled over_ by suitors, but that is neither here nor there…”

She took a swig from her cup, the very tips of her horns turning the palest shade of pink. “I value him as a friend. An ally. We drank together, yes. Probably a good portion of his wine cellar, but… We went no further than that.”

“Nothing wrong with that.” Tataru assured gently, setting her cup down. “I’m sorry - I did not mean to cause offense with questions.”

“None taken.” Anemone waved a hand. She still did not look up. Tataru waited, worrying at her lip.

“Is there…” She paused, trying to sort out what she wanted to ask. “Did you regret going to dinner?”

A smile broke out over the au ra’s face, but it was sad. “No. It was a lovely time, in both instances. I just…” She stopped herself, swirling the contents of her glass.

“It would be easy to love him, Tataru. Even _I_ can see that.” Anemone chuckled. “Very easy, perhaps. But I’m a mess, in more ways than one. And I am horn deep in this _Warrior of Light_ business. There isn’t - ”

Again she cut herself off, inhaling deeply before letting it out in a sigh. Her grip on the cup was tight enough to drive the color from her nails.

“There isn’t enough time.” She said at last. “Ishgard is trying to pull itself up from a hellish war and I’ve no idea where the crystal might drag me next. And I _don’t_ want to lose anyone else.”

Haurchefant’s name went unspoken, as did Ysayle’s. Tataru shrank a little in her seat, thumbs rubbing against one another.

“It wasn’t your fault.” She reminded her firmly. “It _wasn’t_. What happened was - ”

“Taru. Please.” Anemone set her cup down, resisting the urge to just down the rest of it. She wrapped her arms around herself as though cold. “It happened _twice_ and I do not know if I could stand to see it again.”

The lalafell nodded, chewing on her bottom lip again. “Is that why… I’d wondered if that was why you tried to turn the Lord Commander’s invitation elsewhere.”

“Part of it.” Anemone rubbed her arms. “Like I said, it would be easy to love him. I’m _half_ convinced he’s too good to be true, most of the time.” She smiled, some of her humor returning. “I will admit that it was tempting to kiss him.”

Tataru giggled. “There’s always next time. I think he would not mind.”

“All the more reason _not_ to do it then.” Anemone reached for her cup, sipping from it slowly. Her face twisted as she swallowed. “Oh hell. Maybe I will. _Just_ a kiss. See if he turns red like Alphy does when anyone mentions something besides war plans and studying.”

“Go for it.” Tataru encouraged, lifting her cup in a sort of toast. “Then you can say the Lord Commander is just like the rest of us.”

That earned her a snort, but the summoner raised her glass anyway.


	2. Snowfall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Those born of Ishgard seem inured to the snows and chills. Or they do a very good job of acting like it. Even so, she doesn’t like the thought of tempting fate.

“Haurchefant,” Anemone paused, chewing on her bottom lip for a moment. “Friend, I am becoming concerned about the state in which you choose to train.”

He only grinned at her, the damnable fool. Bare from the waist up and showing no sign that the cold bothered him at all. She, on the other hand had invested in one of the thickest coats she could find. It might have been Emmanellain’s at one point, but the unspoken rule of possession making up a portion of the law still pervaded in Ishgard. Or so she hoped.

Most importantly it was warm - and even if the young lord had recently been struggling to shrug it on due to the growing broadness of his shoulders it was long enough to nearly reach her boots. A fair enough trade, she thought, considering the keg of spiced cider she’d marked off just for him.

“Tis nothing, friend!” Haurchefant laughed, lowering his blade to set a hand on his hip. “I assure you, I have braved lower temperatures than this.”

“With more clothes on, I would hope.” She remarked, bemused when he only laughed once more. “You truly mean to say that this is a habit for you? Swinging that sword around, half naked to the elements?”

Haurchefant smiled. “I promise you that I take precautions. Your very concern warms me!”

She stared, feeling suddenly very convinced that he was addled. “Put the sword away.”

He blinked, brows disappearing behind his bangs. “Pardon?”

“Put the sword away. And whatever else you train with. It’s _freezing_ out here and I’m not keen on losing you to the cold.”

He did not protest again, doing as she said and watching her curiously as she marched him towards the kitchen of his very own house. His father’s house. Whichever.

The cook jumped when she all but dragged him in by the arm, requesting that two mugs of cocoa be made. And something to warm the foolish lord as well, if he’d be so kind. In the resulting scramble of activity she took the chance to herd the amused elezen towards the hearth, pushing him down onto a stool.

“Really,” he began, accepting a mug from one of the kitchen staff with a nod of thanks. “There is no need to be so concerned. I am well, you have my word.”

“You would tell me just about anything, I think, if it meant I would not worry.” Anemone debated giving him her stolen coat, sizing up the breadth of his shoulders before tossing the notion away. “How long have you made a habit of training like that?”

Haurchefant’s smile was soft, perhaps bordering on coy. “Nearly as long as I can remember. As I’ve said, friend, I have endured worse than a mere cold spell.”

“You’re mad.” She told him plainly, inching closer to the fire. Braving the cold had never been one of her favorite things to do. “Absolutely godsbedamned mad.”

They’re both quiet as the business of the kitchen washes over them. In what seems like very little time at all they each have a bowl of soup and a warm bread roll to dunk in it - perfect fare for warming one’s bones. Haurchefant chuckles a little when she makes idle patterns in scraps of bread in her soup, but doesn’t judge. That’s just as well in her opinion, this is more like eating at a campfire than at some fancy Ishgardian dinner.

“I shall admit,” he says after he wipes his lips, “that was much needed. Thank you, Anemone.”

“Your house.” She reminds him, tail swaying lazily. She’s warm now, content, and Emmanellain’s coat is somewhat unnecessary. It she’d had somewhere to put it she’d have taken it off, but just throwing the thing on the floor would be rude and a disservice to the poor man. “I can only bully you so much. But thank you for letting me.”

He had more color in his cheeks at least, which made her happy.

“I do not mind.” Lifting his left hand and laying it across his heart, Haurchefant managed to look _somewhat_ gallant despite lacking a shirt. “You’re concern both humbles and strengthens me.”

“Flatterer.” Anemone grins as she drains the last of her cocoa, shaking her head.


	3. Bonds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It’s important to have something that anchors you in the world, even if others don’t always understand it.

“I’m curious,” Dusk helped himself to another helping of dumplings, delighted by their flavor. “How did you manage to grab this place up?” A wave of his hand encompassed the Shoe and its patrons - mostly elezen, with perhaps a handful of hyur.

Luli smiled as she collected the dirty dishes from the table next to his. “I bought it with the gil I had left over from coming here. It looked worse then, luv. Big awful hole in the roof. Couldn’t keep heat in for nothing.”

“How does a lalafell find herself in Ishgard?” He watched the stack of dishes closely, ready to help if they tipped or swayed off center.

They didn’t. She had too much practice at this. “I came for a friend. Just so happened that I couldn’t afford to leave, after. So I bought a place and did the best I could.”

Dusk nodded, chasing down a dumpling with a sip of tea. It tasted better than the tea he made. Full, less bitter. He let Luli be as she made a beeline for the kitchen with her burden. One customer saluted her with their tankard as she passed, voice raised in pleasure at her greeting.

He’d finished most of his food by the time she came back, this time to serve an off-duty guardsmen his stew.

“Where’d you learn to cook?” He watched her lift herself into a chair beside him. That she was unafraid of him was losing some of its surprise, replaced by a quiet gratitude.

“My village.” Luli grinned, swinging her legs. “Always wanted to try new things. Travel helped that.”

Made sense. He nibbled the last dumpling, quirking a brow. “And the sword you keep under the counter?”

Her eyes narrowed the faintest bit at that. “How’d you notice?”

“The shield on the wall is recently used.” Dusk smiled thinly, wiping his fingers on a napkin. “And too well cared for to be just for decoration. You hunt for yourself I take it?”

“I do.” Luli studied him suspiciously, still idly swinging her legs. “Easier to get the things I need that way.”

“Without the tariffs.”

She shook her head. “Not always, luv. Temple Knights still like to be a pain when you need it the least. I can usually get around them but…” Her voice trailed off and she shook her head again.

He didn’t need to ask.

“Why stay?” Reaching for his cup he swirled the liquid inside. “You could pave your way to somewhere else with enough dedication.”

And she _was_ dedicated. It showed in the fact that she was still here, offering what she had to the people of the Brume.

“I can’t.” She frowned, shoulders falling a little. “Not easily, anyway. Too many people here need a place to feel safe. Food to eat.”

“What about your friend?” He asked, equal parts curious and willing to be a little cruel.

Her face fell, bright eyes darkening. Her hands curled into fists for a moment before she relaxed them with a tiny sigh.

“If he needs me, I’ll go.” Luli smiled, still looking sad. “It’s not so bad here, once you start to see the silver lining. But… he’s my lout. If he goes, who _else_ is gonna take care of him?”

“Someone else can do it.” Dusk pointed out. “Anemone will make sure he stays out of trouble, surely.”

Luli shook her head, her smiling only growing. “You don’t understand, luv. But that’s okay. Want anything else from the menu?”

He hid a smile, eye curving. “Some of the mudslide pie? It’s been a while since I had anything sweet.”


	4. Happy Accident

“You mean to tell me that you _never_ sought formal training as an arcanist?” Alphinaud forgot that he was about to take a bite of meal, fork poised halfway to his mouth. He stared at Anemone with widened eyes, as though she’d confessed to looting the Sharlayan Studium.

The summoner only smiled, cutting her slice of roast into whimsical shapes. “I don’t _mean_ to tell you, Alphy. I just _did_. You should get it right, dear.” She nodded at his fork. “Eat up, before your food gets cold.”

Chagrined, he finished the bite he’d neglected. Comfortable silence reigned as they ate, the nightly chatter of the Forgotten Knight around them. Alphinaud snuck a glance at his friend as they cleared their plates. Settling in over cups of mulled wine he tried again.

“Where _did_ you learn, if not from one of the schools?”

Anemone blinked, brows lifting as she took a sip of her drink. “Merchants have to keep their books, you know. I learned my numbers from there. My sister had some talent with conjuring and she tutored me.”

“You have a sister?” Alphinaud perked up, smiling. “You never mentioned that before. Does she live within Eorzea?”

“No.” Anemone shook her head, leaning to rest her cheek against her other hand. “She did not support my decision to leave home. To the best of my knowledge she remains with our family back in our village.”

Alphinaud’s face fell. “M-my apologies. I meant no offense.”

“None taken.” She waved a hand. “It was my decision. I wanted to leave and expand my boundaries. That included learning the summoning arts.”

“Is that why Hassan is so…” Alphinaud trailed off, looking sheepish. “That is… his size is very unusual for a carbuncle.”

Anemone laughed, shaking her head. “That was my doing. I misjudged the aether needed during the summoning when I first tried. The crystals probably didn’t help.”

“The… the crystals…?” Alphinaud repeated, aghast.

“Indeed.” The summoner drained her cup, lifting her hand to ask for another. “I never meant to make him quite so large, but that is the way he is. It’s rather useful, don’t you think?”

Alphinaud’s jaw worked, but no words seemed to come to his mind. Anemone lowered her hand, reaching across the table to nudge his chin up and close his mouth. He let her, drawing back when she gently tweaked his nose.

“Don’t be rude, Alphy.” She chided. “Hassan’s carried you when you couldn’t walk anymore. _And_ he was kind enough to make space for your books.”


	5. Innocent Mischief

“Did I hurt you?” Aymeric started to reach out, a hand loosely curling itself into a fist as he stared after Anemone as she suddenly backed away from his desk and out of his reach. Frantically his mind searched for any misdeed he might have done to warrant the sharp reaction from his companion. He’d only meant to point out the route of most likely to lead to the bandits’ camp, not to cause offense.

In the light of the lamps Anemone’s horns looked tinted with pink. She would not meet his gaze, shifting her weight from foot to foot. Her tail pressed close to her legs, shoulders tucking in.

“No.” She looked conflicted, rubbing at her right horn with the pad of her thumb. “You didn’t hurt me. It just… I’m sorry, it just tickled and I wasn’t expecting it.”

Relief rocked him back on the balls of his feet, drawing a sigh from his mouth.

“My apologies.” Inclining his head, Aymeric offered her a rueful smile. “I was unaware your horns were ticklish.”

“Don’t go and get any ideas now.” She warned, one finger raised at him. “I would hate to be the one to inform Lucia you could not attend your meetings due to injury. _Especially_ if you happened to bring such injury upon yourself.”

Aymeric fought back the urge to laugh, lifting both hands in a show of peace. “I give you my word that your secret shall be safe with me.”

She stared at him for a moment longer, one corner of her mouth slowly rising. Her hand lowered, settling on the edge of the map they’d been poring over. “I’ll trust you, Aymeric. But be _warned_ \- Hassan has a _knack_ for surprising people if I ask him to.”

“Noted.” He assured, leaning over the map with more care this time as he gestured to the route marked in red ink. Conversation turned back to the task at hand and, mindful of the difference in height between them, he tried not to startle her again.

Though a part of him could not help but be curious - if a mere ghost of breath could incite such a reaction, what might a touch from his hand elicit? _Or_ , the thought flickered alluringly, a kiss?


	6. Jealousy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It’s just not _fair_ when other people get to spend more time with someone you love more than you do.

“I can’t take you with me.”

Hassan chittered unhappily, paws scrabbling at the floor in front of her boots. His ears lowered, pressing close to his skull as though looking pitiful might somehow change her opinion. Behind him, three long tails tentatively swished. All in all he looked absolutely heart-wrenching and cute.

Anemone bent her knees and gently stroked the top of his head, smiling when he purred. This close, Hassan’s softly glowing fur tickling her legs, his purr had the deep rumble of an airship’s engine. Cid would probably love the sound, if he ever heard it. She scratched affectionately between his ears, just above the crystal on his forehead. “I love you, but this little outing won’t be ideal for you to accompany me. I’m afraid that’s not going to change.”

He whined, trembling voice reaching for the high octave that brought to mind desperate children on the verge of tears. She’d made a mistake in coming so close - now he could wind around her legs and paw at her boots. He even went so far as to stand on his hind legs, planting a forepaw on each of her shoulders to maximize his cuteness. Big black eyes stared imploringly into her very soul, practically on the verge of tearing up.

Or would be, if carbuncles had tear ducts.

She eased a hand under his chin, rubbing her knuckle against his jaw. He leaned into it, tails eagerly swishing as she ruthlessly exploited one of his favorite spots to be scritched. “I _would_ take you with me if I _could_ , love. But I’m afraid it would be too much for you at this current time.”

Hassan wilted, dropping back down to the floor with a meek whine. His tails and ears drooped, but he made no move to bowl her over like he sometimes did with Alphinaud on her command. Her heart clenched guiltily, but she resigned herself to patting him on the head for now.

“I promise we’ll go hunting together once I’m back. Maybe even make a holiday out of it.” She smiled, lightly tapping his nose.

He subsided, but refused to perk up no matter how many endearments she cooed at him. Watching her go, he pawed at the floor again restlessly.

It wasn’t _her_ fault that she had so many things to do now, he knew. His mommy had important business that meant they couldn’t indulge in idle travel as often as they’d like to. He _knew_ that. That didn’t mean he had to _like it_.

“Thou art behaving poorly indeed, for one meant to be the Warrior’s close companion.” A dry voice announced. A cloud of aether shimmered by Hassan’s head, coalescing into the form of a tiny dragon.

Hassan laid his ears back for a different reason this time, dark eyes narrowing at Midgardsomr. His tails thumped heavily against the floor, displeasure evident.

“Canst thou not be supportive to thine own master?” The dragon angled it’s head to look down at the carbuncle, hovering just above his head. “Surely thou art aware of these troubling times?”

Hassan watched the dragon hover, waiting until Midgardsomr’s wings slumped after a beat to bat the dragon on the head with a paw. The ancient dragon fell to the floor with an indignant squeak, soon buried under aetherial silver fluff as Hassan descended upon him. Even at the dragon’s current size none of the carbuncle’s nips were hard enough to cause any real pain, but Hassan did delight in batting the furious draconian around like a stuffed toy.

_That_ would show him for talking so high and mighty. _No one_ knew his mommy better than Hassan himself did and he wouldn’t be lectured by some prehistoric wyrm barely the length of a short sword!


	7. Relaxation and Mischief

"You're cheating." Dusk narrowed his eye at Aymeric, a frown pulling at the corners of his mouth. Between them sat the deck of cards, waiting for them to select from it with the next round. The Lord Commander blinked, looking very much the portrait of bemusement.

Blue eyes settled on the cards each of them held, counting. He lowered his hand, cards facing the tabletop. "I fail to see how you might have reached such a conclusion."

" _No one_ is lucky enough to draw two aces in a row." Dusk lowered his hand as well, resting his chin on his knuckles. "Unless Halone herself is determining your luck."

"I shall thank you not to make light of the Fury's blessings." Aymeric's gaze strayed to the Fortemps servant passing their table, his expression stern. It softened a little as he looked at Dusk again. "I merely possess a paltry amount of skill when it comes to games such as these."

They regarded once another in silence as the servant made his rounds. Dusk's eye began to narrow further, yet Aymeric remained as calm and composed as if they were attending a meeting of the Houses.

"The barracks teach you to have quick hands, Commander?" Reaching for the deck, Dusk made a face at the card he drew before selecting two more from his hand and laying them down. "Dice remains popular among the men, or so I hear."

"Archery." Aymeric smiled thinly at the surprised look on Dusk's face, drawing a card of his own. He selected two, adding them to the slowly growing pile adjacent to the deck. "One must be quick in order to gain skill with the art."

Dusk quirked a brow. "And yet you use a _sword_."

"In order to be a Knight, one must master the blade. Another skill that has served me well." Aymeric's smile widened faintly.

They both turned to look towards the parlor's entryway as M'arach stumbled by, tail lashing and one boot missing. He whipped around as if sensing their stares, looking between them and their card game curiously. 

Tufted ears laid back against the astrologian's skull. "Have either of you seen Hassan?"

Dusk shook his head. Aymeric's brow furrowed in confusion.

"What happened to your boot?"

M'arach didn't attempt to hide his irritation from either of them, the fur on his tail bristling. "Little devil made off with it when I wasn't looking. I'd hoped he came down this way."

"Have you asked Alphinaud?" Dusk leaned back in his seat, stretching out his legs. "Or looked for Anemone?"

Perhaps it was just his imagination, but he thought he saw Aymeric perk up a little out of the corner of his eye.

"'Nem is out with Alphy and Tataru." M'arach's shoulders drooped, the movement mirrored by his long tail. "There's too many places to hide in this house."

"I was under the impression," Aymeric began delicately, "that Hassan was of a... difficult to _miss_ stature."

M'arach's ears folded once more, the look he directed at Aymeric less than kind. "I'm _aware_ of how _big_ Hassan is. He gleefully bowls me over often enough that _forgetting_ isn't much of an option."

"Have you tried Artoirel's room?" Dusk suggested mildly, his tone deceptively innocent.

It earned him a narrow-eyed glare, which he responded to by grinning. Rather than reply M'arach simply turned to go back up the stairs, muttering darkly under his breath as he went. Aymeric watched the shorter man go curiously, turning his inquisitive stare towards Dusk once the miquo'te was out of sight.

Dusk said nothing, setting down a card in the uneven pile.

"Hassan is fond of taking others' belongings?" The elezen tried, reaching for another card.

"Only when he misses Anemone." He chuckled. "Which, when she opts _not_ to startle the innocent citizens of Ishgard with him, can be often."

Aymeric looked thoroughly amused by that notion, adding three cards to their discard pile. He waited for Dusk to draw. "He does such with everyone?"

"M'arach hides things in his boots." Dusk straightened up as he frowned at his current hand once again, glancing at the cards Aymeric held. "Gil, shiny rocks, the like. Hassan likes trying to see if he can eat them - or if he can hide them somewhere no one will think to look."

"I see." Too polite to go ahead and laugh at the miquo'te's expense, Aymeric resigned himself to suppressing a smile. "It sounds as though you all have quite the adventure, working together."

As if on cue, the door at the back of the parlor opened and a softly glowing head of silver fur poked out. Dusk turned in his seat to see what had made Aymeric's carefully composed expression go slack. His eye widened as Hassan butted the door open, closing it with his tails once he was all the way through. Large black eyes blinked at them, fluffy ears perking.

A worn boot dangled from the carbuncle's mouth, yet Hassan retained an air of perfect innocence as he wound his way around the table.

Dusk held out his hand for it. "That's not yours."

A low _mmmaow_ answered him, Hassan's head turning away faster than an offended Lady's at a fish market. 

It was faint, but the sound of a chuckle most definitely belonged to Aymeric as Hassan meandered towards the hall. Dusk lowered his hand, rolling his eye.

"As you will. Your mother will hear about it anyway when she returns!"

If the threat bothered Hassan at all there was no sign, only a brief flick of fluffy tails. Aymeric shook his head as he covered his mouth, the curve of his eyes betraying his smile. Dusk quickly counted the number of cards the other man held just to be sure, resigning himself to possibly losing the rest of his gil.

Anemone found them watching M'arach chase her carbuncle through the Fortemps garden, each holding steaming mugs of cocoa and tea respectively. Alphinaud gaped at the sight of their party's astrologian hobbling about with only one boot, tail so fluffed up it might well have been some noblewoman's neck warmer. Tataru, sadly, wasn't present - retiring to her room above the Forgotten Knight. 

Stepping between them, Anemone stuck her hands into her coat's pockets. Her face nearly glowed with amusement, tail gently swaying in its sleeve.

"How long has this been going on?" 

Dusk drank deeply from his mug, arms folded. "Half a bell, mayhap? He's gotten close once."

"Hassan allowed it, I believe." Aymeric smiled as he cradled his cup of tea, looking no more eager to assist the frustrated mage than Dusk did. "Since then it has been a merry chase."

Alphinaud's voice was small when he spoke up. "Shouldn't we help?"

Anemone opened her mouth to reply, only to pause as M'arach managed to leap onto Hassan. The carbuncle barely broke stride, taking it as his cue to charge through a nearby pile of snow at vaguely alarming speed. Arcs of white filled the air, followed by a distressed yowl as M'arach clung on for dear life.

Hassan, what could be seen of him through flying powder and ice, seemed to be having the time of his life.

Anemone whistled - a high, sharp note easily piercing the air. Carbuncle and passenger abruptly changed directions, scampering towards her. Dusk tensed, bracing himself for impact. Even Aymeric took a precautionary step back, one hand lightly pressing on Alphinaud's shoulder to make him do the same.

Hassan came to a stop in front of his summoner, trilling joyously. M'arach, dusted from ear to tail with snow, remained frozen on the carbuncle's back. He didn't appear to be breathing, pupils scarcely visible as he shook.

"That was unkind of you, making our friend run around in the snow." She admonished. Hassan's ears drooped. "Let him down. _Gently._ Then apologize."

It took a moment for M'arach to relax enough to climb down, his tail lashing from side to side with a quickness some of them hadn't witnessed before. Aymeric offered him a hand to steady himself with, expression carefully neutral as M'arach took his boot and hurriedly slipped it on.

Hassan let out a mild trill that sounded somewhat apologetic, bumping his shoulder against the astrologian's side. It was met with a shaky pat on the head, M'arach's shivering more pronounced now that he was standing. Little wonder, seeing as he'd chased after the mischievous carbuncle without a coat.

"Little devil." M'arach grumbled. Hassan butted against him once more, almost threatening the miquo'te's balance.

"I'm sorry." Anemone reached for his hands, chaffing them between her own. "He put you through all that and these two just stood there," she glanced at both Dusk and Aymeric disapprovingly. "Not very _knightly._ " 

Dusk offered M'arach his mug once the summoner released one of the man's hands, shrugging. "I'm not the professional carbuncle wrangler. It looked like it was under control."

M'arach drank deeply, his tail slowly calming. His ears perked a little as the cocoa entered his system. Lowering the mug he turned a broad grin on the two men. "Buy me lunch and all shall be forgiven. _Just_ this once."

Aymeric had the good grace to look suitably remorseful, even as he joined Alphinaud in stroking on of Hassan's long ears as the carbuncle nudged between them. "You are welcome to join me at mine home. It would be an honor to have you."

Looking mullified, M'arach allowed Anemone to lead him back towards the Fortemps manor. "Sounds like a date. I mean - _thank you_."

Alphinaud sputtered behind them, not quick enough to escape Dusk ruffling his hair. Aymeric trailed alongside them, patting Hassan's head when the carbuncle bumped up against him. 

"Well and good." Anemone mused, sounding as though she were barely containing a laugh. "But first, we get warmed up. Hassan, go and ask if there's any cider left please. That will do the trick."

He hastened to do as she asked, disappearing through the wall with a jaunty flick of his tails. Dusk held the door open for everyone as they knocked snow from their boots and gladly stepped into the manor's warmth. The remains of his game with Aymeric still littered the parlor's table, cards exactly where they'd left them. He caught the elezen's eye as M'arach settled by the fire.

"You owe me a rematch."

Aymeric smiled. "I would be happy to oblige, so long as you are willing."

"Don't let him fool you." Anemone warned, carefully easing the warmer off of her tail. "Our _Lord Commander_ is ruthless when it comes to cards. Guard your gil." She wagged a finger at Dusk, ignoring the feigned wounded look on Aymeric's face.

Lifting a hand to his heart, he sighed. "I should think not. I merely play the hand I am dealt to the best of my ability."

Hassan blinked up at them as he returned with a tray on his back, steaming cups of cider offering the promise of comfort and warmth. He wasn't sure why his mother was laughing at Aymeric, but joined in just to show his support.


	8. Restorative

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The road to recovery is a long one after having the Nidhogg’s eyes pried from him. Estinien detests it, but not all his time need be spent alone.

He wakes because the blankets are twisted up around his legs and there is a weight in the bed that isn’t his own. Years of ingrained training rally for him to pull back, to remove the threat before it can do him harm, yet the most he can manage is to pull back sharply - _too quick_ , his aching wounds tell him through bolts of pain - and scowl. An arm wrapped ‘round his back prevents him from moving further away, warm and heavy where it sits between his shoulder blades.

A part of Estinien recoils. He takes little pleasure in physical contact as it is, but this - this feels intrusive. Smothering to his rattled senses.

Squinting in the moonlight that streams through the window he glares at the offending figure sleeping beside him, able to make out a head of choppily trimmed dark hair and bandages around part of his unwanted guest’s face. They stir, looking up at him with a bleary sort of curiosity and Estinien wonders if the healers are so backed up with patients that they shoved this sleep-addled sod in with him.

Thank the Fury that there is a blanket between them, preventing actual contact besides the stranger’s arm.

“Oh.” The man - a hyur that was slowly becoming more familiar the longer Estinien looked at him - murmured. He blinked sleep from his eye. drawing back and loosening his arm from around Estinien’s shoulders. “You’re awake.”

“What are you doing here?” Estinien puts as much distance between them as the bed will allow, studying his guest with narrowed eyes. A companion of Anemone’s, he recalls now - recently taken in as his fath- _Ser Alberic’s_ new student. Dusk, he thinks the hyur’s name was.

Dusk sits up, spare blanket falling off of him. He rubs at his eye before answering, mild voice losing its raspy quality as he gets used to speaking once again. “Healers said your aether plummeted. I volunteered to watch over you and exchange aether to keep you stable.”

“Exchange?” Estinien frowned.

“Physical contact.” Dusk told him simply, letting his hand fall. “Easiest way to share aether between two people.” He paused, head tilting as he studied Estinien. “Easier if contact’s skin to skin, but I figured you weren’t comfortable with that.”

_You would be right_ , Estinien answered him silently. “So you have been supplying me with your aether for as long as I’ve been unconscious?”

Dusk nodded, shifting to face him with one leg drawn up to his chest. Something moved under his shirt - an ornament of a sort attached to a chain he wore. “Bit by bit. How do you feel?”

His gaze was startlingly free of any expectation, as though he would be satisfied with whatever answer Estinien decided to give him.

He wasn’t entirely sure what to make of that.

“Tired.” Estinien debated sitting up, then thought better of it as his body reminded him of what happened when he tried to move past turning over. “Of this sickroom and being less than myself.” He added, more to himself than to the other man.

“Can’t be less than yourself so long as you know who you are.” Dusk mused softly, making no move to hinder or help him. Estinien shot him a look for the remark and the brunet only shrugged before asking, “Thirsty?”

He was. Hungry too, though Estinien wasn’t certain just how much his body could handle at the moment. Dusk said nothing as he fetched a glass and the pitcher of water someone had left behind, only offering to help Estinien when the dragoon conceded that he needed it. The water was cool on his parched tongue and throat, providing sublime relief from his long fast.

Estinien couldn’t remember if he’d eaten or drunk anything while the Nidhogg had ruled his senses. There had only been the endless hate - churning like the sea.

“It will get easier.” Dusk’s voice distracted him from the unpleasant recollection, the man’s single eye curiously knowing when he met Estinien’s stare. He shrugged. “Recovery. Healing your body might be the easiest part, but your mind will follow. Just as long as you realize that you aren’t the creature that made you act against your will.”

“Aren’t I?” The question posed itself with a trace of bitterness. Suddenly the water in his cup lost its taste, any trace of relief abandoning him. “We were not so different, in the end. Both lost to the path of vengeance.”

“Monsters don’t regret.” Dusk refilled his cup. “At one point you might have been more similar, but you had enough sense to keep yourself above water. That’s something.”

Despite himself, Estinien smirked. “Mayhap.”


	9. Accident

“This isn’t what it looks like.” M’arach insists when Haurchefant freezes, mouth falling slack and eyes comically wide as he takes in the scene before him. The astrologian’s tufted ears are folded back against his head, a panic in brown eyes that seems better suited to facing a live dragon than greeting a friend.

Jordine shucks his coat and hat with a grumble of disgust, white ears twitching with irritation in time to the lashing of his long tail as he considered the sticky cloth. Simone says nothing, making a face at the broken pottery that’s slowly oozing dark amber fluid onto the floor between them. Her fingers stick together when she flexes them and her displeased growl makes the tiny hairs on the back of Haurchefant’s neck stand up.

“I… remain confused.” Haurchefant closes the door to the intercessory behind him slowly, gaze darting between the three miqo’te. “What has happened, friend?”

“A _fucking mess_ , that’s what.” Jordine snarls, glowering at M’arach as he casts his soiled coat and hat over a chair. His crystal medium glows with aether as he summons it, catching Simone’s hands with his free one as she makes to wipe her hands on what parts of her clothes aren’t stained with syrup. “ _Water._ ”

Simone’s black tail lashes as the conjured liquid wraps itself around her hands, her protest a fearsome hiss that draws a warning glare from the red mage as he scrubs at her fingers with his own.

“Aymeric asked if one of us might run an errand for him.” M’arach began miserably, tail pressing close to his leg. “Simone noticed that he was low on his syrup for his tea and we went to get a new jar…”

“Aymeric works too much.” Simone interjected when M’arach said nothing else, swatting at Jordine when the white haired miqo’te rubbed her hand too roughly. “He’s bad like that. Doesn’t get enough sleep.”

Jordine’s lip curled as he met Haurchefant’s gaze over Simone’s head, releasing her hands once he was satisfied they were clean. He tossed a rag at M’arach, hissing at the brunet to clean himself up. “ _Tia_ over there had the bright idea of adding a sedative to the Lord Commander’s syrup to get him to sleep. We were about to agree on the amount when the pot slipped. Simone here caught most of it before it hit the floor.”

“You were… going to _drug_ the Lord Commander?” Haurchefant repeated slowly.

M’arach wilted under his gaze, sheepishly mopping up the worst of the syrup on his person. “It was with good intentions. And you’re _tia_ too.” He added, glaring at Jordine with dislike.

“Aymeric can’t stay awake all the time.” Simone pointed out, rolling her eyes. “He’s being naughty by trying. M’arach didn’t want him to get visited by the _Nightfury._ ”

A shudder worked its way down Haurchefant’s spine at the mention of the old, local legend. Still, he managed a smile as he approached the three of them. Jordine watched him with flattened ears, appeased when Haurchefant made no move to touch him.

“Well, let us get this mess cleaned up and we shall see what can be done about this most grievous behavior.” Haurchefant grinned, stooping to collect the largest pieces of shattered ceramic with care. “Surely between the most fearless, brilliant members of the Warriors of Light and myself we might come up with _something._ ”

Jordine let out a disgusted sound as he rolled his eyes, resignedly accepting Simone’s grip on his arm as she pulled him in to help. M’arach perked up considerably, helping by mopping up the worst of the wasted syrup.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special appearance made by the wondrous Simone, the oc of a dear friend.


	10. Solidarity

“Howl…?” Her voice trails off in concern, fading away into uneasy silence. Luli watches the long line of Howl’s back straighten as the elezen draws himself up to his full height, turning his head just enough to regard her with his good eye over the rise of his shoulder. The effect is undoubtedly unsettling, though she’s grown used to it over the years they’ve been in one another’s company.

Still, something about the situation feels _off_ and she can’t help but worry about him.

“Luli.” He says her name slowly, his voice quiet. There’s no one around them to wake - Anemone and Simone were both upstairs in their room. Jordine had slunk off to go somewhere, only muttering that he would be back in the morning. Dusk had gone to his home in the Brume, presumably to check on his cats. M’arach, so far as she knew, was still at The Forgotten Knight with Tataru and Y’Shtola.

Fortemps manor slept, but she was very much awake as she tried to puzzle out the reason for the air of tension around her friend.

“Did something happen?” It takes some concentration to make it down the last few steps to join him on the ground floor. Everything in the manor is made for elezen bodies, but she’s not about to throw in the towel over it. “You were gone so long, I was worried.”

Craning her head back to look at him, she met his eye squarely. “Are you alright?”

He shifted his weight, looking away. That alone was unlike him enough to make her want to reach for him - even if it was just the nearest fold of his coat. The cloth was bitterly cold between her fingers, unmoved by the warmth of the manor around them. She wondered if it was from the weather or one of his spells.

“I… may have done something.” He said at last, looking down at her. The high collar of his coat and eye patch made it difficult to read his expression on a good day. Standing at his feet, the full difference between their heights apparent, did her no favors.

But his mouth was set, the skin around his exposed eye drawn tight.

“Tell me.” She tugged lightly on his coat. “We’ve been there for each other through thick and thin before. It can’t be that bad.”

“I might have killed someone.” He says blandly, as if to deliberately prove her wrong.

Luli blinks, her mouth going dry. She stares up at him, the edge of his coat still clutched between her fingers. Questions run through her mind and she wants very badly to ask some of them. But she doesn’t.

There’s things that Howl isn’t comfortable talking about - might _never_ be comfortable talking about. It’s not her place to ask for more than he’s willing to give.

Instead, she lets go of his coat and holds her arms up to him - waiting. For a moment nothing changes. Then, with the speed of a glacier moving, he stoops to lift her up. The cold extends to the rest of him, she finds, and smooths the frost-speckled fabric with her hands as she considers her answer. Held against his chest, it’s easier to pick out the faint signs of strain on his face.

“Alright.” She holds his gaze as she says it, one tiny hand on his shoulder for a sense of balance. “Show me where the body is and we can figure this out. Together.”

It might be her imagination, but she thinks his eye softens a little. He nods, helps her climb into the warm security of his coat and waits until she’s settled before reaching for the door. Luli winces at the cold as they step out, but doesn’t complain as he starts walking. Ishgard’s nighttime silence pools around them as he retraces his steps.

“Howl?” She asks after a few minutes have passed. They’re nearing their destination, she senses, if the briskness of his stride is any indication.

“Yes, Luli?” His breath fogs above her head, disappearing into nothingness.

Waiting until a passing Temple Knight is out of earshot she simply tells him, “You’re an idiot.”

He makes a defensive sound in the back of his throat, like she’s wounded him. “You don’t get to judge me.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.” She tells him cheerily. “Just sayin’.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Howl, Luli's precious lout, belongs to my dear friend gorecorset.


	11. Pressure

"The fact of the matter is that I should have been able to _do_ something - rather than just... just standing here like some _heartsick maid_!" Alphinaud proclaims, all of his breath suddenly leaving him in a great whoosh as he threw his hands up into the air.

It's absurdly quiet around them in the wake of his statement, as though the force of his pent-up frustration has convinced the world to hold its peace just for this moment. Alphinaud's eyes widen as he processes what he's just said - whom he just vented his thoughts upon - and his boyish face shutters in on itself in shame.

Anemone feels herself uncurl a little from her instinctive recoil. Her horns ache a bit after the sudden increase in the volume of his voice, but she doesn't reprimand him for it. Everyone has their breaking point. And it seems, for better or for worse, this is Alphinaud's.

Suspended malms above anything else, surrounded by the quiet of the Cloudsea and the forest, she can hardly think of a better spot to have a breakdown.

"Alphinaud." She uses his full name carefully, sensing that now is not the time to call him by her preferred nickname. "How long have you been keeping this in?"

He draws in on himself defensively, mouth tightening. It says much, when she thinks about it. He's always been so very expressive.

_Too long_ , her mind answers when he says nothing. His gloves creak slightly as he balls his hands up into fists.

"Forgive me." Alphinaud mutters suddenly, gaze affixed to the ground before her boots. As if looking her in the eye requires too much of him just now. "I... I should have controlled myself better. I did not mean to yell. Please - disregard that unseemly outburst."

_Ah yes_ , the little voice within her mind echoes bitterly. _Unseemly. Because you cannot allow yourself to be a young man, not with the weight of the Scions around your neck._

"You were not unseemly, Alphinaud." Anemone closes the distance between them slowly, setting her hands on his shoulders. It takes coaxing to get him to look at her, but eventually he does.

"How long?" She asks him again. "Since the aetheryte crystal failed or does this have to do with Estinien?"

He avoids her eye. "What makes you think this has anything to do with Estinien?"

"The _heartsick maid_ comment, for one." Anemone pointed out mildly. "That and you've looked despondent ever since we retrieved him. Have you forgotten that _you_ are one of the reasons we were able to save him?"

"I..." Alphinaud trails off slowly, deflating a little. "I have not forgotten. But it feels quite like a... a _fluke_ that I was able to do anything at all. Then when the aetheryte crystal malfunctioned I... I worried. That you would not return."

"Such an event was beyond your control." She points out softly. "You handled the situation well, given the circumstances at the time. Others might have lept off the sky island with the right provocation."

He does not smile, but his shoulders lose some of their previous tension. Anemone waits only a moment before following her instincts and drawing him into a hug. It makes him protest a little - a tiny burst of sound, more flustered than offended.

"And I do not think Estinien meant to insult you, Alphinaud." She murmurs into his soft white hair, mouth quirking as it tickled her scales. "He's a gruff man, but not knowingly cruel."

Alphinaud sputters, uncertain where to put his hands or if he should return the embrace at all. He fits well in the circle of her arms, just tall enough that she can tuck his head under her chin. It's a pity that he'll not remain so. One day she'll come back to find him grown - likely to be as tall, if not taller, than Aymeric.

"Y-you do not have to..." he shifts, too many words trying to slip free at once. 

It's a poorly kept secret, at least to herself, that she enjoys robbing him and others of their gift with words.

"You do not give yourself enough credit, sometimes." Letting him go, Anemone smiles. "Without you a great many things would not be possible."

He flushes, bless him, and slowly begins to perk up. "I believe you pay me too much credit still, but I am grateful nonetheless. You have my thanks, Anemone."

They're not out of the woods yet, she thinks, but there's a bit of hope to be found in the tentative smile he wears. She knows all his stress and doubt cannot be swayed into nothingness with a hug, but it is progress.

"Come," she pats his shoulder. "I think we might spare an evening under the stars. It will be a good opportunity to practice what he showed you, yes?"

Alphinaud blinks, realization dawning, and he nods. They are right by the forest, so wood for a fire shouldn't be difficult to find. Between herself and Hassan, there is next to nothing on any number of legs or wings that can escape her hunter's snare.

He seems more at ease as they sit around the campfire he'd successfully made and lit himself, watching the flames dance contentedly. Hassan stretched out behind them, the very tips of his great tails occasionally twitching as he yawned.

Anemone picked that moment to embarrass Alphinaud with another hug, smiling as he tried not to lean against her as the stars wrinkled overhead.

"Put some more stock in the hardiness of heartsick maids," she tells him gently, tail twitching in amusement. "They stand back up even if their hopes fall through and carry on with their day. You are not so powerless as you think."

Alphinaud takes great interest in poking the fire with a spare branch, his cheeks nearly as pink as Tataru's dress. "I-I shall keep that in mind."


	12. Blackmail

"No." A warm hand pushed him back, preventing him from rising from the covers. He thought he recognized the voice, blearily straining to make sense of the darkened room.

"Alisaie?" He fumbled, thinking it his sister's hand that stopped his reluctant waking. Anemone let him twine their fingers together, brushing his soft white hair back from his face with her other hand. "What time is it?"

"Too early." She told him, smiling in the dark. Alisaie, curled up against his back, stirred at the sound of her voice but didn't wake. "You only just got to sleep. Stay until you've rested some more."

He mumbled incoherently, eyes closing with no further prompting. She waited until his breath evened out before carefully pulling her hand away. Pulling the blanket up over the twins she wished there was a way to preserve this adorable sight forever.

Especially if it meant she could show it to the others.


	13. Drift

Luli groaned, burrowing deeper into the warmth offered by Howl's side. She could hear his heartbeat, the rise and fall of his chest smooth and even. It was a soothing thing. Enough to lull her back into the pleasant haze of near-sleep.

One of his hands stroked her hair, finding the edge of her ear and gently tracing it. The subtle affection worked better than any sleep spell - she let herself drift off with a tiny smile, content in the knowledge that the lout hadn't gone anywhere.


	14. Sprawl

M'arach slept in a sprawl of tanned limbs, his long tail liable to wrap around and cling to whatever it could as the miqo'te slumbered. It made sharing a tent with him interesting, but between the two of them it was passably warm.

Dusk shifted, careful not to crush the astrologian's tail as he coaxed the man's arm back under the heavy blanket they shared. M'arach didn't seem to mind, one ear twitching sporadically. If the dark knight turned dragoon smiled about it, well... there was no one around to know.


	15. Duty

It was a fact of life that the Conclave of Ishgard never really slept. _Someone_ would always be awake, be it a patrolling guard or a harried acolyte running errands for the inquisitors. Lucia had long begun her mornings before the sun could tinge the thick clouds with any sort of light - and on a clear, predawn morning this was often her only chance to glimpse the stars.

She did not mind. The life of a soldier had always been her choice, even if her choices carried her far from her birthplace. It was not a decision she regretted. Not once.

Her expectations for the morning comprised of a brisk, cold walk into the hall of her commander's office - perhaps finding Aymeric still at his desk, pen in hand, having worked the night away without realizing. It would not be the first time, nor the last.

The latch of the door opened easily under her hand, yet the sight within drew her up short. Her eyes widened faintly, the stoicism many knew her for giving way to mild surprise.

Indeed, the Lord Commander had spent the night in his office - though it seemed he'd lost the battle of attrition against the pull of sleep. Slouched in his high-back chair, his head lulled until his chin touched his chest. She confirmed that he was breathing for her own peace of mind, relaxing marginally once she had her proof.

A tiny smile quirked her mouth, a sight few others ever witnessed. She turned to leave him be, at least for another half a bell while she made tea. He would appreciate the warmth of it, Lucia knew, once his senses returned and he suffered the consequences of sleeping at his desk.


	16. Rudeness

Haurchefant responded to prodding fingers in his side rather amusingly - swatting at the general direction of the menace playing him and putting his back to it. He even let out a quiet _hmph_ , to her amusement.

Still, if the Warrior of Light had to greet the new day with bright eyes and a swaying tail - so could he.

After all, he'd promised them a tour of the ridges outside of Camp Dragonhead in exchange for her training his men on the dangers of provoking a trained mage.

Looking down at Hassan, Anemone winked. Then she seized the blankets draped over the sleeping elezen and _yanked_.


	17. Thief

"Jordine?" Elhizea's voice carried down the hall, mildly confused and uncertain. "Do you know what happened to the parfait Luli made? The one with the rolanberries?"

Spoon hanging out from his mouth, the red mage eyed his recently acquired snack. The dessert glass was mostly empty, save for the bit of whipped cream and fruit at the very bottom.

"No idea." He called back, happily digging the last of it out with his spoon. His tail curled up like a question mark, a pleased smirk tugging at his mouth as he licked the spoon clean.

First come, first serve after all. The roe could just ask Luli to make another.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jordine's an ass. Don't let the fancy red mage duds fool you.


	18. Unfortunate

"Explain to me again," Anemone began slowly, her nose wrinkling. " _Why_ you thought it would be a good idea to try and make stew? Specifically with out-of-date spices?"

Howl stared at her with a blank cast to his eye, seemingly unbothered by the substance filling the bowl in front of him. M'arach had staggered away from the offered meal when Howl thrust the bowl at him, his face losing all its color at an alarming rate. Jordine had outright refused to approach the elezen black mage and his concoction, the fur on his tail standing up as though he'd been threatened with mortal danger.

Simone had merely yowled her displeasure, fleeing the kitchen with her soft black ears flat against her head. The monk had yet to return and honestly, Anemone couldn't blame her.

"It's not that bad." Howl pushed the bowl towards her. It shimmered like liquid - but _only_ where the abysmally thin layer of broth managed to pool. Beneath that, some kind of discolored sludge had formed - thick enough that it had produced a nauseating _plop_ as it fell from her spoon.

Howl's eye gleamed. "Try it."

"I think not." Anemone leaned away from the bowl defensively, slightly horrified to realize that the little black chunks dotting the stew had once been bits of _meat_ , now burned beyond all recognition.

Howl smiled. The smile of a man who enjoyed tormenting others where he could and was not at all afraid of murder. "Are you sure?"

_Black mages._

"Quite." Steeling her stomach, she tossed the unsettling contents into the garbage and debated calling the bowl and spoon a waste too. "I'll cook tonight. We can rotate until Luli's wrist heals."

Howl rocked back onto his heels, smile still eerily in place. "Of course."

She tried not to glower at him as he left, masking a shudder as she turned the faucet on.

Silently, she prayed to the Twelve that Luli recovered quickly.


	19. Accident

"I don't think dragoons are supposed to do that." Luli mused, hands planted on her hips. She cocked her head to the side, long tail of hair swishing. "Are they, luv?"

Dusk had to agree that, _no_ , it probably wasn't that often a dragoon's jump backfired like this. Though he was grateful to whatever insightful gardener had decided to plant a fir tree so close to the training yard, the branches were pinching his legs and he wasn't particularly fond of being upside-down. His spear, unfortunately, had been lucky enough to reach the ground. It lay innocently by the roots of the tree, dark metal gleaming.

"Do you think you could hand me that?" He asked instead, pointing one clawed finger at the fallen weapon. Amazing things, the claws sported by a dragoon's gauntlets were. Not so much for domestic tasks, but beggars couldn't be choosers.

Luli looked at the spear, then at him. She smiled, but it wasn't unkind. "What're you gonna try and do with it luv? Hack yourself free? Seems like a bad idea, since you can't tell where you need to aim. Some of those branches look pretty thick too."

It was kind of her not to point out that he only had _one_ working eye to top it all off. He appreciated that.

"Would you mind looking for Ser Alberic?" He let his arm dangle, peacefully resigned. "He should be nearby."

"Of course." She sketched a bow and he tried to return it as much as his current position would allow. He watched her go, closing his eye to try and tune out the beat of his own pulse at his temples. 

Really, there _had_ to be an easier method to this jumping thing.


	20. Friendship

The look on Thancred's face was steadily approaching new levels of panic. Surrounded on all sides by irate women, he could only put up his hands and stammer out apologies as each shouting lass put forth a new accusation. None of them had taken a swing at him yet, but there was always the possibility. 

Besides, the bard posing as a rogue could defend himself. He might be an _honorless, honey-tongued snake_ as one woman claimed - a lie, Elhizea knew, because Thancred was as much of a bleeding heart as M'arach when he wasn't thinking with his prick - but he could remove himself from his own mess without shedding blood.

Still, she leaned against the bar with a smile on her face and took a deep swig of her whiskey. It burned deliciously going down, threading fire through her veins as it went. Beside her, Anemone knocked back another shot of rice wine like it was her job.

"Should we help?" The summoner mused, twirling her cup between her fingers. 

"And _deprive_ Alphinaud of his education on how not to be a womanizing tart?" Elhizea quirked a brow, grinning. "Nah, let him boil for a little longer. It was Thancred's idea to try and juggle so many at once."

Anemone's laugh was pretty, she supposed. 

"True. But I don't think we have to worry about Alphy telling every eligible woman he sees that she's his muse."

"Eh, point." She toasted the au ri with her glass, turning back to watch the spectacle. Their hyur friend winced as one of his conquests jabbed at his chest with a finger, wilting under a new wave of yelling.

The midlander made his escape from the ring of death as an exasperated guard trudged over to see what all the fuss was about.

M'arach dutifully allowed himself to be used as a shield, throwing a quick glamor over the white haired bard.

"You are a _life saver_ my friend." Thancred whispered. "Truly a saint. I promise to repay you for this kindness."

"I know you will." M'arach chuckled, waving at the bemused guard and his new entourage. "Because if you don't I shall have to act as though I do not know you and that your intentions towards me are highly questionable. A night in the cells might do you some good." He added sweetly, blinking down at Thancred's mortified face.

"You wouldn't." Thancred stared at him.

"Don't test me." M'arach patted the hyur's head fondly


	21. Touch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A quiet moment for relaxation turns into a lesson on etiquette and having fun at Alphinaud’s expense.

“Is this how you’re supposed to do it?” Alphinaud mused, gingerly scratching the spot just above M'arach’s ear. The soft appendage folded down whenever his fingers happened to brush against it, but the astrologian never voiced a complaint.

“Little lower.” M'arach tilted his head to make it easier, sinking deeper into Alphinaud’s lap. He sighed, butting his head on the elezen’s fingers to show him where to scratch. “Right behind the curve - _that’s it_.” Letting out what sounded very much like a happy purr, M'arach closed his eyes.

Jordine eyed them from across the war table, amusement and disdain writ plainly for all to see. “Coaching the boy are you? Does your lover know?”

Alphinaud froze, making a choked sound. M'arach reached up, put the arcanist’s hand right back where he wanted it - all without opening his eyes.

“Don’t have a lover.” He called back to the red mage, tail swishing contentedly. “I just trust Alphy not to pull on my ears, that’s all.” And he’d had the most damnable itch for a while now. Alphinaud’s fingers were still small, and he was careful. It worked.

“Then what should I tell Dusk?” Jordine stretched his arms high over his head, back popping as he did. He leaned into his seat once he was satisfied, his own white tail idly twitching. “He is the primary giver of your head scratches, if I recall.”

Alphinaud’s fingers paused again. He looked between the two of them, hesitant. “Am I crossing some boundary of etiquette?”

M'arach cracked one eye open just enough to glare in Jordine’s direction, his tail thumping once. Heavily.

“No. _Jory_ over there just has a case of the sour grapes ‘cause no one can give him affection without catching some disease.” He smirked, flicking the ear Alphinaud wasn’t scratching at the scowl on the other miqo'te’s face.

“Milk-sucker.” Jordine huffed.

M'arach gave Jordine the archer’s bird with a hand, yawning. With reluctance he pushed himself up and out of Alphinaud’s lap. “It depends on the miqo'te, Alphy. Some don’t like their ears touched at all. Others prefer to know you better before they let you. Some don’t mind at all, so long as you ask.”

“Don’t grab a miqo'te by the tail, though.” He warned, giving Alphinaud a serious look. “It’s very rude. Worse than touching their ears without asking.”

“Think of it this way.” Jordine interrupted, his scowl gone. “Elezen don’t like for strangers to come up and play with their ears, right? It’s a bit like coming up to someone you don’t know and slapping their ass to start a conversation.”

Alphinaud looked horrified, either at the mere suggestion or Jordine’s language. Or both.

M'arach nodded when the boy turned to him, expression completely serious. “Grabbing our tails is like…” He paused, chewing on his lip in thought. “Like if I went up to Aymeric or Estinien and grabbed their privates in public. Sort of.”

“It’s insulting.” Jordine deadpanned, blue eyes narrow. “And it will get you a broken nose at the very least. Even the most touchy-feely of our people hate that boundary being crossed without permission.”

M'arach nodded in agreement. “It’ll get you killed if you do that to a Keeper of the Moon. They’re quiet, true, but they’ll still kill you.”

“I… see.” Alphinaud swallowed, looking faintly uncomfortable. “But you are not unoffended by my touching them?”

M'arach favored him with a pat on the head, smiling. “You asked first. And we’re friends, sort of. Comrades at least.” He shrugged. “I figured you could use the practice, since you’ve got that crush on Simone.”

What color was in the elezen’s face abruptly left, then doubled. It was entertaining, at least to the two miqo'te. 

“I-I possess n-no earthly idea of what you mean!” Alphinaud insisted, shoulders hunching defensively. 

“You’re as thick as your grimoire, boy.” Jordine drawled, ears swiveling to catch some noise. “Anyone can see it. Just get the hyur dark knight to teach you and shut up.”

M'arach grinned, slouching a little as he nodded. “Dusk gives the best scritches. You don’t even have to lead him.”

“I-I…” Alphinaud sputtered, tips of his ears brightly red. “I _thank_ you for the chance to learn more about your people. But that is just - just… preposterous!”

“He’s always like this isn’t he?” Jordine sighed, ignoring the arcanist’s seething.

M'arach bobbed his head, resting his cheek on his hand. “Lad can’t help it. Go easy on him.”

“I do _not_ know what either of you are talking about!” Alphinaud’s voice climbed an octave as he spoke, which did absolutely nothing to help his defense.


	22. Night Out

“Dressing up, are we?” Thancred asks. He does a very good job at sounding casual. It does not erase the fact that he has been leaning against the door frame for the past six minutes.

M'arach plays at ignoring him as he debates whether or not to add an earring to his current ensemble. It’s been a while since he’d worn any. Some had better memories attached to them than others.

But gold would just look _gaudy_ , wouldn’t it? M'arach doesn’t want to look like that. It would be nice to just… be _pretty_. For once.

“Anything special planned?” Thancred lifts his voice once again as the silence stretches on. He’s rewarded with a twitch of M'arach’s tail.

“Every day can be special, don’t you think?” M'arach offers back. He gives up on the debate with himself, smoothing down the front of his skirt.

The fabric is light and airy under his hands, even with how calloused they’ve recently become. M'arach likes the feel of it. How even a tiny twirl sends ripples of blue around his legs.

It makes him want to spin in place, just for the fun of it.

“I suppose.” Thancred’s amused tone cuts through the thought, rooting M'arach firmly in place. “A rather… _light hearted_ way to look at things. It suits you.”

One ear turns towards the bard, flicking once. M'arach looks at Thancred’s reflection pensively, attempting to parse out whether there’s a hidden barb in the other’s words. Thancred stares back, calm and collected. Perhaps curious.

“Can’t let things be somber all the time.” M'arach finally shrugs, turning to face his friend.

They are friends, right?

“There’s supposed to be a meteor shower tonight.” M'arach smiles, ears perking. “Care to accompany me? Or are you hiding weary bones under all that charm and wit?”

Thancred favors him with a mildly reproachful look. “I am not so _old_ as to fall asleep while out with a friend. Particularly someone who takes such avid interest in the heavens.”

“Should I try telling your fortune again, Thancred?” M'arach teased gently, setting a hand on his hip. “Surely it will be better this time, now that your pet nutkin serves as your _impulse control_.”

_That_ earned him a look. More exasperated than anything else, thankfully.

“Please.” Thancred pushed off the door frame slowly, shaking his head. “Leave the nutkin out of this. If I agree to accompany you to the viewing will you promise to behave yourself at least?”

Making a show of considering Thancred’s request, M'arach curled a hand under his chin and dipped his head in thought. It was almost a mirror to Alphinaud’s famous pose. _Almost._

“If I buy you dinner,” M'arach began slowly, peering up at Thancred through his lashes. “Will you try to smile - just once?”

Thancred blinked. And stared, mouth slightly agape. “A… smile? I smile often enough, I think.”

“Your real smile.” M'arach shook his head. “It’s much better than the one you use to impress gaggles of women. But…” he paused, tail drooping from sight. “I understand if you can’t.”

“It sounds like a proper sort of evening.” Thancred eventually mused, apparently willing to let the comment about his smile - or supposed _gaggle_ of women - slide. “How could I refuse?”

M'arach grinned, tail lifting and beginning to gently sway. “That’s the spirit.”


End file.
